


everything comes in waves

by synchronicities



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Canon, Set during the Epilogue, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 13:25:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17808782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronicities/pseuds/synchronicities
Summary: "It kind of feels like there should be more to it, you know,” Lance says softly, breaking the silence. "I mean, we beat the Galra. We’re heroes. Why does it feel so…"The word finds its way to Keith’s tongue too easily. “Empty?”--In the aftermath of the final battle, Keith and Lance grow up, grow older, and grow towards each other.





	everything comes in waves

**Author's Note:**

> Hello vld fandom pls accept my too-little-too-late offering. Title from a song that features as a music cue in-universe bc I'm lame, ["Anchor Holds the Sea"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LN0UiPAEAKE) by Captains & Captives. Click on the link when it pops up again for Max Drama

_“I mean, when do we start feeling like the world belongs to us?”_

_I wanted to tell him that the world would never belong to us. “I don’t know,” I said. “Tomorrow.”_

_\--_ Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe

* * *

Keith sees Lance power through the funeral and memorial services like a champ.

The entire team is shell-shocked, of course. Allura was herald and leader and princess and warrior and sister all at once, and they all wear the loss and grief on their sleeves, even in the wake of their ostensible victory. Speech after speech, press release after press release, and it does not get easier. Allura, the cornerstone of their quest, Voltron’s beating heart, is gone.

But Pidge’s tears are honest, and the weight in Hunk’s shoulders are real. Lance, on the other hand, adopts what Keith eerily realizes is a shockingly familiar expression – plastered half-smile, straight back, the sadness in his eyes smothered by countless pleasantries and condolences. The blue marks on his face, Allura’s last gift to him, seem duller every day.

The night they dock on Altea, a week after the fact, is the worst. Allura is everywhere – in the architecture of the palaces, the blooms in the palace gardens, in the laughter of the children playing in the fields.  

Worse still, perhaps – the Altea that returned is one that never knew her. Lance’s face falls when one of the women who works at the palace tells them so. They know Allura, daughter to King Alfor, as a historical figure from 10,000 years ago, but they do not know Allura, graceful and kind. Allura, who kept an entourage of mice and sacrificed her father’s A.I. to save them and laughed at Lance’s family’s dinner table, Allura who had led them across spacetime and saved the universe.

Keith remembers Lance when they had first met, when all they could do was snap at each other. Then he thinks of him, lovesick and illuminated by the light of a setting sun _._ Either one would be better than _this._

“No, it’s all right,” Lance murmurs to him later when he asks about it after much fumbling. When it’s just the two of them, he doesn’t bother keeping up appearances; instead the grief radiates from him, is apparent in his hunched shoulders and drooping eyes. Keith doesn’t try to think about what that means. “It just means it’s up to us now, you know? To spread everything about her, what she stood for.”

And well, he doesn’t know what to say to that. So instead, Keith lets Lance lean against him and doesn’t bother telling him it’ll all be okay.

* * *

What follows is a period of awkward limbo. The Galra are defeated, intergalactic war has been averted, and Earth is safe. Their quest is over, and now they must deal with what comes after.

Sam, of course, welcomes them with open arms. The Garrison still has much to do now that Earth’s doors to the universe have been opened and aliens continue to pour in, and there is always something that can use the paladins’ status and expertise – a negotiation here, a training session there. Keith is constantly busy, as Kolivan and Krolia continue to give him updates on the fragmented Galra empire.

Hunk is the first to leave. Apparently, Kinkade’s documentation of his cooking onboard the _Atlas_ was exceedingly popular online, and a big-name channel has offered him a slot for his very own show.

“I want to leverage it into a real restaurant someday,” he says, earnest and idealistic in the way he’s always been, and how can Keith begrudge him that? “And you guys are willing to come and eat whenever, of course! Friends and family discount.”

Pidge insists on a goodbye party, even though Hunk is only moving across the country and can bring the Yellow Lion over to the Garrison whenever he’d like. Hunk cooks the team dinner and they sit in one of the Garrison’s empty rooms, swapping jokes and stories. Keith looks around the table, hears Romelle’s bright laughter, sees Lance’s crooked smile, listens to Pidge’s snorts, and feels wildly, irresponsibly nostalgic for the original seven of them clustered in the dining halls of the Castle of Lions, somewhere in the vastness of space, a little less old and wise.

Now, sans Allura’s gentleness and unshakeable steel, it feels a little like something ending.

Hunk flies away in the Yellow Lion the next day. It’s not long before Coran departs for Altea, citing the need to rebuild the government in the wake of the planet’s sudden return; he takes Romelle with him as liaison to the recently returned colonists. Pidge follows Matt back home for the robotics company they’re consulting on – they’ll be back, they assure, but it will take a few months.

Lance leaves next. He doesn’t yet know where he’s going, perhaps to Altea first before returning home to his family. His departure is unceremonious, but he, Keith, and Shiro continue the tradition of their steadily dwindling goodbye dinners.

Keith gets up early the day he knows Lance is leaving, finds him staring at Blue and Red as the sun rises behind him.

Sunrise, sunset.

“Feels like a lifetime ago, huh,” Lance says, and Keith jumps. His friend chuckles a little. “You’re not as stealthy anymore, Keith.”

“You just got better at sensing me,” Keith says, moving to stand next to him. “But yeah, I get what you mean. You in Blue, me in Red.”

“I kinda miss being a leg.” He’s staring at Blue, now. Keith doesn’t dare ask if he had communicated with the lion following Allura’s death. He probably had – Blue and Lance both loved so fiercely, shared the same free spirit, and they had both adored Allura.

Keith scuffs the ground underneath him with his shoe. “I don’t know,” he says. “You made a pretty good right-hand man.”

Lance is quiet for a while. “And you made a pretty good head.” He raises his head to smile at Keith – a softer, sadder smile far removed from his once-trademark buoyant grin. Keith feels the loss. “What’s next for you, Keith?”

 “I don’t know,” Keith says, and finds that it’s the truth. “Help Shiro set up shop for a bit, here. But after that, I don’t know.”

“You’ll do great in whatever you wind up doing,” Lance replies, sincere.

Another silence. Keith’s chest constricts, his throat bubbling up with thoughts he can’t bring himself to voice. _I’m sorry. I’m here for you. I understand why you’re leaving, but part of me wishes you weren’t._

“You take care of yourself,” he says instead. It feels woefully inadequate. “And of Red.”

“Duh. He won’t shut up about you.” For a second his eyes light up. “Take care of Blue. She likes attention.”

He knocks his shoulder against Lance’s. “Reminds me of someone else I know.”

Lance huffs, but Keith thinks he sees the corner of his mouth quirk up. He hopes it did. “Shut up, Keith.”

Shiro, of course, stays with the Garrison. They had been his life before he had been kidnapped and they are offering him a life now; he wears the rank of Commander like he was born for it. He encourages the younger recruits, placates the older leadership, and is an assuring, stalwart presence throughout the base. And yet Keith doesn’t slot next to him as he thought he would after everything ended, feels out of place and awkward whenever Shiro issues orders or turns to him for advice.

“I don’t get it,” he tells Acxa in the middle of a spar. He tries to do a low kick but she foresees it, jumps up to avoid before pouncing on him. He blocks her attack and goes on the offensive. “Growing up, I just wanted to be like Shiro. But something’s missing.”

“It’s not just because you never fit in here,” Acxa replies. She then twists around and judo flips him, because of course she does. “It’s because you know there is more you could be doing,” she says from above him, helping him to his feet. “Your scope has grown beyond the Garrison, beyond Earth. You know the Galra need you.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, you’re right.”

His mother is ecstatic when she gets the message. Krolia’s transmissions about the Galra talk about a lost empire struggling to rebuild, and she believes Keith’s status can help with the transition. Shiro sees Keith off with a hug and a small, wistful smile.

Years ago, when Keith was younger, it had been the opposite. Now their team has come and gone, and it’s Keith who’s slotting on a helmet as he watches from the hangar.

“You take care of yourself, Keith,” Shiro says, handsome and happy in the sunlight. It’s all Keith ever wanted for him. “It’s a wide world out there. You could get lost.”

“Don’t you start,” Keith says, but the smile stretches on his face easily and stays there after the Black Lion blasts off.

* * *

Keith had stopped thinking of time during the war. In those two years traveling with Krolia, survival had been the priority, and before he knew it weeks, months, and years had slipped past before they had made it out. When he had returned to the other paladins, it was crisis after crisis, battle after battle. Even that last, golden night before the Atlas launch had felt like only a breath.

Now, again in the vastness of space without his team, he feels like he has nothing _but_ time.

Faced with their recovered homeworld, the Galra are amenable to returning home and rebuilding, but progress is slow. Keith sits in meetings and rubs elbows with ambassadors, returns to train new Blade recruits.

“You’re doing all right?” Krolia asks him after he holes up in the Black Lion after another endless meeting with warlords. It’s new, what they have – she had to take on the roles of his mentor and confidant during the fight against the Galra, but now she’s allowed to just be his _mother_. It’s still startling to see how much she really _resembles him_ ; how his jawline and large eyes are all hers.

“Just fine,” Keith replies on instinct, but it’s there again, the all-encompassing tiredness that has been dogging him lately. As if sensing it, Black sends out a calming aura, and he accepts it readily.

“Don’t give me that,” Krolia says, not unkindly. She takes the passenger’s seat next to him. “It’s okay to not be okay.”

He rubs the space between his eyebrows. “I just feel like there’s so much to do and I’m not prepared for it, you know? And I know I’m doing a lot, but since there’s so much to do, it feels like I’m not doing _enough_ , and it just spirals from there.”

She gets up and throws her arm around him, brings him closer. “Oh, Keith. You’re doing so well. It’s not always up to you. It shouldn’t be.” She runs his fingers up and down his forearm, and the gesture is oddly comforting.

“It felt like that for such a long time, though,” he admits. “Voltron, then the Galra empire. It’s a lot.”

“I know, my dear boy. And I’m sorry it came to that.” She hums. “And I don’t know if it’ll get easier. But I’m proud of you, and I know your dad would be, too.”

Inexplicably, Keith feels his eyes water. “ _Mom_ –” he blurts out, and then wishes he could take it back, and then finally lets the word sit there between them.

She plants a kiss to his forehead. “What do you think about taking a trip home?”

* * *

He visits Lance first. He tells himself that it’s just a matter of logistics – Varadero is quite a way from the Garrison headquarters, even with the Black Lion, and since Shiro and Pidge are over there and Hunk’s temporarily nearby as well, he can just get this visit out of the way –

Lance’s other sister – the one not named Veronica, and Keith racks his brain trying to remember her name – is the one to open the door. “Hi, Keith, didn’t know you were back on this side of the galaxy,” Not-Veronica says, her eyes roving over him. There’s a beat, like she’s debating whether to make small talk with him, before apparently deciding not to. “Lance is in the _sala_.”

She’s right – Lance is reading a comic on one of the sofas and jumps when he notices Keith.

“ _Hey,_ Keith. I heard you’d be back, but–”

“Surprise,” Keith says, not-quite-sarcastically. “I thought you’d be in Altea; I was surprised when I heard you were here.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, and he knows it as soon as the words leave his mouth and Lance’s face shutters.  He tries again. “How’ve you been?”

Lance waves a hand airily. “Oh, you know. Been helping out on the farm. Nothing special.”

Something twists in Keith’s chest. There it is again, the familiar self-deprecation, now marred with heartbreak and loss. _It’s special because it’s what you want to do_ , is what he wants to say. Instead, what comes out is, “But you’re…okay?”

Lance snorts. “I’m not dying of loneliness, Keith, no need to worry about me,” he says as Keith resolves to worry about him more. “Pidge and Hunk would come here often, but – life’s busy, you know? The restaurant’s taking off, there’s a lot to do at the Garrison. But I’m good, really. It’s a simple life.” His eyes light up. “Oh, that’s right. Let me show you something.” He links his arm around Keith’s casually, and Keith tries not to flinch when Lance tugs him along to the family garden out back.

The sight of the field makes his jaw drop.

“Those are juniberry flowers,” Keith says, untangling his arm from Lance’s. His throat is dry.

“Yeah,” Lance says. He’s not looking at him as he walks into the flowers, turning again to look at him. “Coran gave me some tips on how to grow them on Earth. There’s just something that’s lacking in our water, but they were able to dry it out to give to me.”

Keith finds himself at a loss for words. “They’re beautiful.”

“I like to sit in them sometimes,” Lance adds. “They were Allura’s favorite, you know? And it’s just…she deserved it, to lie in a field of flowers and not think about the war effort, or our training, or what to do next.” He crouches before stretching out his legs, patting the ground next to him.

Keith frowns, crosses his arms. “I’ll stand.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Lance says, the teasing lilt almost reminiscent of how it sounded when this all started. And then it falls away, replaced again by the somberness Keith has come to associate with him. “You deserve it too.”

So he sits, delicately crossing his legs and awkwardly putting his hands on his knees. He sneaks glances at Lance out of the corner of his eye, notes how his friend has changed – some lines around his eyes, now, maybe a sharper jawline, the blue marks on his face a shade lighter than they were last year. And then he closes his eyes, breathes in the comforting yet alien scent of the field, lets his mind wander. There’s a rustling sound next to him and a huff that comes from the ground; he assumes Lance has laid down.

It’s a while before either of them speak. “It kind of feels like there should be more to it, you know,” Lance says softly, breaking the silence. Instantly, Keith glances at him. “I mean, we beat the Galra. We’re heroes. Why does it feel so…”

The word finds its way to Keith’s tongue too easily. “Empty?”

Lance sighs. “I didn’t want to put it like that.”

“No, no. I get it.”

His friend snorts. “Yeah, right, Keith, look at you! Intergalactic ambassador, Galra reformist? You could be heading up the whole shebang someday.”

He fidgets. “I wouldn’t want to,” he finally says.

“Why not?”

“I feel like, sometimes, all I know now is how to fight,” Keith admits. If Lance hears him, he doesn’t acknowledge it. “I know how to pilot a plane, or swim through slime, or chart a course through an asteroid belt. But I don’t know how to teach, or how to be a diplomat, or any of the other stuff the Galra need now. I go through all these negotiations and I’m not sure what I’m doing.” He huffs. “It was supposed to be easy.”

“You’re doing great,” Lance says mildly. He’s turned his sharp blue eyes on Keith. “You did great. Truth is, I don’t think any of us really know what we’re supposed to be doing now, after everything. We just gotta do our best to make it through, yeah?” His mouth quirks. “Though if you ask me, it’s just as important that the Galra gets used to the coalition before any of those warlords start feeling self-important again.”

Keith chuckles despite himself. “You and me both, buddy. Speaking of, the Blade of Marmora’s at a crossroads, too. It’s like, what’s a group of resistance fighter assassins supposed to do when there’s nothing to resist against? Everything’s up in the air.”

Lance hums. “Go where you were needed, my abuela used to say,” he says quietly. “The Galra doesn’t exactly need it now. But there are tons of people who could use the help, yeah?”

Something clicks at that, and Keith turns to stare at him. “That’s an idea,” he says slowly. “A relief organization. Lance, you’re a genius.”

Lance chuckles. “Nah.” He knocks his shoulder against Keith’s. “But I’m your friend, and sometimes friendship means saying the obvious solution.”

Keith ducks his head to hide his smile. “You are.”

He leaves Lance there as the sun starts to set, telling him he’s got others to visit. Lance stands to hug him. Keith wishes he could immortalize the sight of Lance in a field of flowers, somehow at peace.

* * *

The days go by.

Kolivan and Krolia are entirely on board with the idea of retooling the Blade, and start organizing meetings with the Coalition. The latter is instantly able to provide potential jumping-off points, planets that have struggled with integration or recent crisis.  

As they predict, Keith is offered the Galra throne and declines it; instead his declaration to uphold the Coalition agreements is met with thunderous approval across the galaxy.

The anniversary comes and goes. Keith bids goodbye to Black and the problems across the galaxy pile up, but so do the solutions, and Keith’s step brightens with every accepted refugee, every box of supplies given to an ailing town, every tree planted in the vastness of space. He calls Shiro on weekends and the rest of the paladins less regularly, but he can feel it – the mutual desire to stay together, keep each other close despite the distance, and it makes him glad.

Before he knows it, another year has gone by, and there’s a wedding invitation on his desk.

* * *

Keith barely makes it home in time for Shiro’s wedding. His ship is attacked by rogue Galra warlords bitter at the planet’s new directive towards peace, and he is stranded on Omicron Gamma for two days while it’s repaired. And then he receives a distress signal from Cashik, helps prevent an extremist coup. All in all, he arrives at the Garrison two hours before the ceremony starts; Griffin yells at him, shoves a garment bag into his arms, and tosses him into a dressing room.

The ceremony is brief and lovely. Keith and Veronica sit in the front row as best man and woman, Sam officiates, Curtis and Shiro are both _glowing_ as they walk down the aisles to each other. Shiro’s voice breaks during his vows but he looks so _happy_ , Keith tries not to cry.

(He cries a lot.)

The reception is a whole different affair. Shiro and Curtis have their first dance, something slow and sweet that makes Keith’s eyes water again, before he and Veronica are dragged onto the dance floor as well. Dancing has never been Keith’s strong suit, but Veronica is apparently a good dancer, and he just follows her moves as best as he can. She smirks at him before releasing him and taking Curtis in her arms, and Keith finds himself face to face with Shiro, who starts leading effortlessly.

“Sorry again I was a day late,” Keith starts, squeezing Shiro’s hand. “I’m sure Veronica wanted to rip my head off. But it was a beautiful ceremony, I swear. Congratulations.”

“Curtis held her down, don’t worry,” Shiro jokes. “And thank you.” They dance in silence for a few beats before Shiro speaks again. “I just want to say – I’m so proud of you, Keith,” he says. “I’ve been keeping track – to think, the angry kid from the Garrison, and look at you now.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Keith says honestly, because where would he be if Shiro hadn’t trusted him, and he hadn’t gone on that goose chase when Shiro had returned? Where would any of them be? “And it’s your wedding, so I’m supposed to say stuff about how great you are and you’re not supposed to stop me.”

Shiro laughs. “Then I’ll just hold off until your hypothetical wedding.”

“Who said anything about a wedding?”

Shiro hums noncommittally. “Not me, for sure.”

“Shut up,” Keith says, but he flashes Shiro a quick grin before sobering. “Anyway, uh, the wedding. I don’t know Curtis all that well,” he says. “I just – I just wanted to be sure. He makes you happy?”

Shiro’s face relaxes into a smile so lovely Keith wonders if he’s aware he’s doing it. “So happy, Keith.”

“Then I’m glad. Congratulations, again.” He wonders briefly if the words are too empty, but Shiro’s smile softens and he drops all pretense of dancing, instead pulling Keith into a hug.

“Thank you.”

Keith thinks of their team and their not-quite-brotherhood and hugs back tightly before pulling away. He pats Shiro on the shoulder. “I’ll have you know I’m not great with kids,” he says, mostly to break the tension.

“Who said anything about kids?” Shiro mutters, but he’s still smiling, and Keith’s heart warms. If this is growing up and growing old, if this is life after the Galra war, then maybe things will be good. “Thanks, Keith.”

Keith hugs him and sends him off to other people who want to dance with the grooms. He dances a bright jig with Romelle, who tells him about when she burned her eyebrows off at the restaurant, a story which makes him laugh. Next, a sarcastic tango with Pidge; she steps on his feet the whole time. He sips the fruity drinks Curtis apparently likes at the bar with Sam and Coran, hangs around the DJ table watching Matt insert songs into the playlist, and listens to Rizavi rattle on about her new girlfriend at one of the tables before she leaves him to step on Griffin’s shoes on the dance floor.

“Wow, Keith, I knew you weren’t much of a dancer, but that was bad,” Lance’s voice comes up from behind him. “You’re lucky Roni knows how to lead.”

A smile creeps onto Keith’s face before he can do much about it. “Shut up, Lance. We can’t all have fiery Cuban mambo dancers for _abuela_ s.”

His friend sits down next to him. Keith chances a glance – he still looks mostly the same, but he’s older, a little more world-wise, a little more rugged and serious. It’s a good look, especially in the tuxedo. “Damn right.”

There’s a heavy silence. Keith turns in his seat to face him fully. “You look good.”

Lance’s mouth twitches. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” He coughs and puts his wine glass down on the table. “I heard about – your trip here. I’m glad you made it.”

“It’s Shiro’s wedding. I would’ve raised hell if I didn’t make it.”

“Classic Keith.” Lance chuckles. “I heard about the tsunami relief you guys did, too. That’s great stuff.”

It’s all too easy to slip into their old banter. “Keeping tabs on me?”

“Just enough that I can trash talk you on internet forums. That Keith, he thinks he’s soooo great with all this philanthropy, well, lemme tell ya, when _we_ were starting out as Voltron pilots, he–”

Keith kicks him lightly. “Hey!”

“ _We had a bonding moment_ –”

“ _Ha ha_ , Lance,” Keith says, but the memory dredges up so many feelings that it surprises him – his youthful indignance, his instinctive emotional reaction to Lance, nostalgia for those early days above the Castle – and he quiets.

Lance seems to have come to the same conclusion, and his face sobers. He takes a long drag of wine. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“It has.” Keith fidgets with his fingers. “We’re getting old.”

“ _Que_ horror,” Lance replies. “I might have been upping my moisturizing.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s a hardship,” Keith says dryly. They’re quiet for a couple of beats before he wills himself to ask, “So, how are _you_?”

Lance waves a hand flippantly. “The family’s doing well. Might be time for a change, y’know? Maybe I’ll try planting pineapples.”

Quietly, “I’m not just asking about that, Lance.” He watches his friend’s face, waits for the inevitable crack, for Lance’s pressed optimism to disappear into grief and mourning.

But it doesn’t come. Instead, Lance speaks, and the emotions are genuine. “She would’ve loved this, you know? Just – a big party. Shiro got married! She would’ve wanted exactly this. For us to really just be _happy_.”

“And are you?” Keith asks quietly. “Happy, I mean.”

Lance looks at him now, _really_ looks at him, and Keith can’t look away. _Before_ , he thinks, Lance would have flirted, winked, schmoozed – but they really are both older now, and instead it feels like Lance’s blue eyes see more of Keith than he would think. Maybe they always had. “It’s a work in progress,” Lance says finally. “But – I think I am. Or at least, I’m ready to be.”

Keith opens his mouth to say something, but then the music changes from the bright pop music Matt plays way too much of to [something slow and low](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LN0UiPAEAKE), guitar sifting over the speakers. As if from an old movie, the dance floor separates into couples, Shiro and Curtis sharing a tender dance in the middle of it all.

Lance shrugs and holds out his hand.

Keith swallows and takes it before he can think twice. On the dance floor, Lance takes Keith’s hand in his and puts his other hand on Keith’s waist. Even through the thick suit, he can feel the warmth.

“Relax, Keith, god,” Lance’s voice says in his ear.

“Again, god, no dance background here,” Keith snipes back, and Lance snorts.

As they sway slowly together, Keith takes a deep breath and tries to relax. It must work, because Lance’s figure softens too, and they move closer almost unconsciously; Keith rests his chin on Lance’s shoulder and tries not to think about it, tries not to think about Lance and all their years together, all the battles where they’d cover for each other, of how he’s always felt so helpless in the face of his friend’s sadness –

 _You can count on me_ , the woman sings, her voice soaring over the notes, and his fingers tighten in Lance’s. The realization is quick, like things snapping into place – he wants to help Lance, wants to be there for him wants Lance to count on him –

 _I could love you_ , he thinks fleetingly, thrilling and dangerous. _Maybe I already do. Maybe I have for a long time_.

Keith pulls away slightly and chances a glance at his partner’s face. Lance is looking at him, blue eyes bright.

Later, when he’ll tell this story, Keith won’t be sure who moved first. He won’t remember if they kept dancing. What he does remember is the noise fading, the long kiss on the dance floor, their holds on each other tightening. He’ll remember pulling away and Lance resting his forehead on Keith’s, their breaths mingling in the space between their mouths. He’ll remember the quiet bubble around them before the song ended, and he’d recognized the look on Lance’s face.

 _The Lance who’s always got my back_.

“Keith,” Lance murmurs, soft and caring, and that’s what gets him, all these years as classmates and rivals and teammates, and Lance has never once said his name like _that_. “I just–” Here his friend smiles, and Keith’s heart fills with relief. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad,” Keith whispers back. “I think, all this time, I was just – I hoped, but–”

Lance kisses him again, and Keith chases the taste of red wine.

The song ends, and suddenly they’re standing in a dance floor that’s filling up as the music once again thrums to something livelier. In the flashing lights, Lance looks younger, happier, a bit more like he was when they first met, and Keith traces a thumb across his cheekbone. “We’ll talk later?” he says, his voice sounding rough.

Lance smiles. “We will.”

They’re pulled apart soon enough.  Veronica pulls her brother for a dance and Pidge cackles at Keith, Shiro laughs and then hugs him, and Romelle talks his ear off with questions about their relationship. But occasionally he’ll turn and meet Lance’s eye across the room, and his heart flickers. _We’ll talk later._

It’s three hours later, when everyone is filing off to the residence hall the Garrison has lent them for the occasion, before the idea hits him.

* * *

This time, Lance answers the door. “Keith,” he says, his gaze brightening. In the fluorescent lights of the Garrison residence hallways, he looks a little more tired, a little more like the Lance Keith’s come to know. “It’s one in the morning. Your room is down the hall. Unless–”

“You said, once,” Keith starts, the words falling out of his mouth before he can stop. “You said, once, that you wanted to spread Allura’s message of love. That you wanted to _help_ people, make a change the way she would want.”

Lance’s brow furrows. “I did. I do. What does this have to do with–”

“So,” Keith says. He takes a deep breath, steels himself. “You can come with me.”

Lance’s eyes bulge in amazement. “What?”

“The Blade of Marmora,” he says. “Humanitarian efforts across the galaxy. Relief goods, aid, awareness campaigns, all that stuff.”

Lance is still blinking at him. “But…I’m not Galra.”

“That’s not what it’s about,” he says. “Not anymore. It’s for anyone who agrees with the message and is willing to put in the work. Besides,” he says, faltering. “You helped inspire the rebranding, so. It’s only right.”

“Only right, huh.” Against all odds, there’s light dancing in Lance’s eyes. “Is it right for you, oh fearless leader?”

He knows Lance is only goading him, but something flares up in him anyway. But Keith is older now, can bite back with a smirk and a “You _know_ I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you there, hotshot.”

Lance smirks back. “Touching,” he says, leaning against the doorway. “What would I be doing?”

“You could hang around me for a bit, check out the campaigns you’d be interested in,” Keith says. “We’ve a few now, with more on the way – trafficking on Agratheam, earthquake relief on Renzaloret, education on Beaumonde. Then if you find one you like, I’d send you to whoever’s in charge of it, and you work.”

Lance touches his chin in faux contemplation. “I don’t know,” he says. “I’ll have to work you into my obviously extremely busy schedule.”

“Ugh, take it or leave it, Lance.” And then, softer, “You’re in?”

Now Lance smiles, big and genuine, and the sight is dazzling. “You bet your ass I’m in, Keith.”

Something lightens in Keith’s chest at that, and he realizes he’s been staring at Lance for far too long. “Well,” he huffs, shrugging. “That’s great. I’ll – uh–” He flounders. “Keep in touch? I plan on setting off again next week, and–”

“Keith.” His eyes snap back to Lance’s. His gaze has softened, and he reaches out to grasp Keith’s wrist in his slender fingers. “I wanted to, um, thank you. You were always there, and now this, us–”

“It’s no big deal,” Keith says, twisting his wrist so that Lance’s hand is in his. “I think you’d be good with us. And we go where we’re needed, right?”

(And they will. Lance will arrive at the Garrison launch pad the next Sunday, the old twinkle in his eye and his laughter lost to the wind, and he hugs Shiro and Hunk tightly and spins Pidge around. Keith will help him into his ship and their hands will linger for a second too long. At Headquarters, Keith’s staffers will find Lance charming and they’ll assign him first to the underwater planet they’d visited so long ago. He’ll come back to HQ after a few months, new school firmly established on that planet, and he’ll smile at Keith across the tarmac when he lands. Keith’s heart will skip a beat. They’ll work on it, somehow.)

But now, a smile creeps up on Lance’s face again, and Keith finds himself relishing the sight. “Yeah,” he says, still not looking away. “That’s right.” He pulls their joined hands to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to Keith’s palm. “You want to come inside?”

“I do,” Keith says, and he lets Lance pull him inside his quarters and turns off the light.

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this because while Lance has every right to pine after Allura for the rest of his life, he also … could, like, not, y’know?
> 
> Planet names are basically just garbled planet names from other sci fi works because I could not be bothered to come up with my own LOL. Also, I'm not saying I imagined Lance's abuela as basically Rita Moreno from One Day at a Time, but I'm also not not saying it.


End file.
